I’m no prude, but I’m a little put off by the rampant nudity at my budget spa. I’m all for going starkers, but please ladies, how about a little modesty?
Amazing, isn’t it? We’ll pay good money to be stretched, stomped, scrubbed, pounded, and pulverized by a stranger with the touch of a hydraulic auto-frame straightener, but nakedness makes us uncomfortable. Mr. Manners is on record as a fiercely repressed Catholic who believes profligate nudity is Satan’s oldest come-on. (Hello Eve!) I see no reason to change that view. Nothing good will come of the ongoing efforts in San Francisco to make walking around naked in public an inalienable right. The world does not need more photos of wrinkled men and women publicly displaying their naughty bits, pot bellies, and surgical scars. And rules of good taste should apply even in private settings such as spas. If they give you a towel, use it—at least while socializing with fellow spa-goers. If you have no shame, at least fake it for our sake.